Being Drake Mallard
by Madam Mimm
Summary: Counterpart to another fanfiction I wrote, Drake considers his life after being Dark Wing Duck. Read author's note for a better summary.


**A/N: references my other fanfiction "Disenfranchised is a Tricky Word", but it's not essential you read that first. What you need to know: Set in a world where the characters from cartoons are actors, and some struggle with losing their shows. This takes place in the "Valiant and Rabbit Recuperative Home for Disenfranchised toons".**

Drake sighed. Today, he had lost his purple cape and coat. He wasn't Darkwing. He would never be able to get out of the home if he didn't start admitting to that fact. The radio blared some punchy rock tune about being an "all star". He snorted, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the plain white wall of the reception. He had shone, he had been a star. Now that's all he was. _A has-been. _

"Could you turn that down, please?" He looked imploringly at the nurse who was manning reception, and she obliged, grudgingly.

"Are you waiting for visitors, Mr Mallard?"

"Yes." He smiled, a somewhat weary twinkle in his eye. "Gosalyn and Launchpad are coming to visit today. I think we're going to go out for the day."

"Good." The nurse smiled. "It's a lovely day for it."

It was, Drake agreed. The sun shone gloriously, brightening the already vivid colours of Toon Town, and a pleasant wind danced through the lobby every time the door opened. The nurse, who Drake thought looked rather young to be working in a recuperative home, shot a sly smile at him.

"You are Mr Mallard, then? Drake Mallard?"

"Yes. Why?" He was suddenly panicked, his eyes wide. "Did Gosalyn cancel? I don't have to go to any emergency checkups, do I?"

"No, no..." She giggled. She was a rather attractive young cat toon, with short, brown hair and tortoiseshell markings on her cheeks. "I just wasn't sure if it was you. I'm new here."

"Oh." Drake sighed and flashed an apologetic smile, settling back into his chair.

"So you're the famous Darkwing Duck." She smiled, glancing across at her computer.

"Famous?" Drake chuckled. "Not so much, these days."

"Oh, that's a shame." She sighed. "I wish I could work on the 90s ward. So many of my favourite characters from when I was a kid... Just the other day, Lydia Deetz came in here and... oh." She stopped herself, blushing. "I'm not supposed to discuss that with other patients. Sorry."

Drake smiled, crossing his fingers over his stomach.

"Don't worry about it. The entire fiasco with Lydia and Beetlejuice is none of my business." He closed his eyes again, enjoying the afternoon sun warming his face. He thought about that for a moment. He had pleaded to help when Beetlejuice had an "episode" in the lunch hall, involving attacks on several other toons, bringing one dining table to life and causing another to combust. He had asked to help out. He didn't get much chance to fight crime these days. Not that he did before, technically, he reminded himself. It was on the show. It was written, staged. But he'd still gotten to play the action hero, and that was a buzz it was hard to let go of.

He opened his eyes briefly as the automatic doors hummed open and shut, but it was merely Yakko Warner strolling the grounds, deep in thought. A nice young man, Drake thought, but he had a habit of worrying himself too much. He closed his eyes again. He could wait for Gosalyn.

Gosalyn...

His relations on set were somewhat fabricated. Morgana had not been a love interest, not in real life, and he and Launchpad had only become friends over a period of years, originally being quite distrusting of each other on set. Gosalyn, however, had been different. She had been drawn to life, as it were, right beside him on the page. Whether toons were drawn or born, the belief that there was a perfect companion or "soul mate" was strong amongst them. Be it romantic or platonic, toons believed they would ultimately find their true counterpart, their co-star. And he had been lucky enough to find his in Gosalyn.

She had undergone Physical Editing Surgical Treatment five or six years ago now, saying she had been a ten year old for long enough and was getting sick of it. He couldn't blame her, although he now had a whole new field of problems with her. Yes, he had actually adopted her shortly after beginning filming, and they had formed quite the team. But now Gosalyn was a young woman, and would be for, presumably, the rest of her life. So, as the doting father, he was faced with coming up with new reasons why she shouldn't go around with the horrific men she had the poor choice to date.

Not that any of them were really that bad.

They just weren't good enough for Gosalyn.

He opened his eyes again, to check the clock. She wasn't late. He was early. He never had been the type to wait around, and so he had of course been ready and waiting for them to arrive a full fifteen minutes early. He sighed, catching eye contact with the young nurse again. She blushed and they exchanged smiles, before she turned back to her computer screen.

This was progress, he thought. He had folded up and put away the coat and cape. Maybe he'd be discharged again soon. It had become a pattern and one he wasn't proud of, but once every few months or so he would feel the pressures of day to day life getting to him. Out would come the cape, and he would happily sign himself over to the Valiant and Rabbit Recuperative Home for Disenfranchised Toons so he could play out his fantasy until he became bored of it again. The doctors and nurses all knew the pattern, and everyone knew it wasn't healthy, Drake among them. But, he couldn't bring himself to throw away the Darkwing image. Maybe he should get PES treatment, he thought, chuckling to himself. If he got edited to be an old man, maybe he'd have to slow down.

He doubted that would stop him. He'd probably just get Launchpad to build a Darkwing Zimmer frame.

"Is everything ok, Mr Mallard?" The receptionist nurse looked at him with concern, causing Drake to realise he'd been chuckling to himself. He smiled, waving her concerns away.

"No worry, no worry. I'm just thinking over my various problems." He pushed himself to his feet, stretching his arms as he began to pace aimlessly. "I'm letting my thoughts get away from me."

"Well, if I may, Mr Mallard..."

"Drake. Please."

"Drake..." She blushed again, looking down intently at her keyboard. "I don't see why you should be here. You've experienced so much in your life, and you don't seem to need recuperation at all."

"Yes..." He sighed, staring off into the distance. "They'll probably discharge me soon. That would be nice; I might be out for Launchpad's graduation."

"Graduation?"

"Yes. He's been working towards a BA in engineering. He's actually a lot more intelligent than he lets on."

"Really?" Her eyes sparkled. She bit her lip, and glanced around, making sure there were no other nurses around. She smiled nervously, slipping a notepad and pen onto the counter. "Would you mind at all... It's just, I was such a huge fan when I was little..."

Drake, trying to act cool and not betray his proud, beaming smile, casually tore a page from the notepad. He leant over and whispered conspiratorially "I'll get you Gosalyn's and Launchpad's too."

"Oh, that's... I.. thank you." She grinned, blushing pink under her white fur. Drake tapped the edge of his bill, with a knowing nod and a smile, and pocketed the paper.

"I think I'll wait outside. I'll sign myself out now." So saying, he signed himself out on the ledger, and signed the notepad as well, grinning as he walked out the door.

_An autograph. _

It had been a while. _But I've still got it, it seems._

Drake grinned as he strolled towards the gates, hands deep in his pockets, chin raised as he basked in the sun.

He hummed to himself, the song that had been on the nurse's radio.

"Dadum de doode, doo-de-de-doo-de don't stop coming, don't stop coming, dum dum dum hit the ground running..." Irritatingly catchy. He'd have to look it up at some point. He took a deep breath, finding himself in an unstoppably good mood. The crunch of tires on gravel was a familiar one, and he was happy to know he could still recognise the car by it.

"Dad!" He smiled as the redhead hugged him. She was taller than him, but only just, with slender limbs and of a fairly tomboyish build. She hadn't changed much in her editing, but either way she was still his little Gos.

"Hey, kid." He grinned, closing his eyes as he felt her bill on his shoulder, her hair against her face, breathing in her familiar scent. "How's life?"

"I'm surviving." She smiled, pulling back from the hug. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too."

"Hey, DW." Drake looked up at the familiar voice, as Launchpad got out of the car and walked over to give his old co-star a hug. "DW? Are you ok?"

"It's Drake." He smiled, shaking hands with his friend, and shooting a smile at his daughter. "I'm not Darkwing anymore." Gosalyn beamed, but Launchpad looked slightly taken aback. Drake smiled at him. "It's... recent events have made me realise that I should be moving on with my life, and the first steps I can make are admitting that Darkwing Duck was a character I played. And unless I want to legitimately set up my own vigilante justice headquarters in the basement, there is no point in me indulging in it any more."

"Oh, dad..." Gos sniffed, sweeping him into another hug, before leaping in the car. "Come on, let's go get lunch."

Launchpad watched Drake carefully.

"You don't want to let go."

"A shrewd observation, LP." Drake raised an eyebrow. "I don't think I'll ever be able to let go. I was drawn this way. It's who I am. But I'll figure it out. I'll become a civilian, eventually." He walked to the rear door of the car, shooting a quick wink at Launchpad, and whispering. "And if that fails, I want you to know I wasn't entirely joking about setting up vigilante justice out of the basement."

Launchpad's eyes lit up, secure in the knowledge that his friend was still true to himself. Drake shushed him, grinning.

"But don't say anything to Gosalyn, or we'll never get a moment's peace."


End file.
